The Play's the Thing AU
by TodayWeEscape
Summary: Renly is the lead actor in a University theatre production opposite the beautiful and ambitious Margaery Tyrell, but behind the scenes, Renly is far more interested in playing the lover of another Tyrell...
1. Summer

Renly isn't sure why he feels so nervous this time. He's been to dozens of auditions before, very successful ones at that. Perhaps it's because he's been waiting here all afternoon as the other actors were called in one by one. Perhaps because he's the only one left now, the only one left in the entire building it feels like. He glances at his watch, almost seven. He takes a deep breath to stop his stomach from growling. All of the sudden, the hall is filled with the persistent echo of a noise: _tap tap tap, tap tap tap. _

Renly wheels around to see a boy sitting with his legs crossed, back against the far wall, a head full of mussed, golden curls bent over a notebook in his lap.

"I didn't see you there." Renly says, by way of greeting.

The tapping stops as the boy raises his head, and Renly feels his breath catch somewhere low in his chest. He has always seen love, or sex more specifically, in shades of grey. He doesn't have to make a _thing_ of it; A man every now and again doesn't have to _mean_ anything, but men don't usually look like _that. _Seven hells. At least seven.

"I saw you." the boy says. The way he bites his lip as he looks up timidly, straining his skin across the high bones of his face, is enough to raise Renly's eyebrows up into his hair. He can't seem to muster up the courage to breathe, let alone speak in response. He turns back around and crosses his arms across his chest, as if to contain himself. After a moment of silence, he hears the boy chuckle softly but decides to ignore it. The tapping starts again.

"Could you _stop _that_?" _Renly snaps as he wheels around again. Instantly, he regrets it. The boy looks up at him sharply, a frown playing at his fine lips, something slightly pained in his wild, green eyes.

"God. Sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you. You're- I'm just, a little nervous. That's all. Forgive me." Renly would like to say _please don't look like that, I'll do anything, _but it seems over the top.

The boy doesn't reply, he simply nods and begins to sketch in his notebook again. His hair falls away from his face as he tilts to the side, examining his work. Out of the silence, he says pointedly, "There's really no need for you to be nervous."

"Easy for you to say. You're not auditioning."

"Wrong. Easy for me to say because I know you're a brilliant actor."

"What do you know about my acting?"

"I saw you in Hamlet year before last."

"You don't look old enough to have been allowed on a college campus year before last." Renly teases. What was it that his brother Robert always said? _If you want to let a woman know you like her, insult her. _Would that tactic work on impossibly beautiful men as well? He'd have to call and ask, just for the reaction.

The boy half-scowled and stood up, still sketching with his head tilted, a look of impeccable concentration on his flawless face.

"What are you drawing?" Renly asked, as the boy began to circle him.

"You."

"Are you Studio then?"

"Something like that."

Just then, the door creaked open slowly and a woman stepped out. "Renly Baratheon?" she asked. He nodded. The boy brought the notebook to his chest and the rubber of his pencil to his lips. Renly nodded to him curtly and went to follow the woman, feeling his stomach turn to ice. Just before he passed through the door, he heard the boy's voice call "Wait!"

Renly wheeled around and peered from behind the door. "_What?" _he whispered hurriedly, barely concealing an elated grin.

The boy wore a wry smile as he looked Renly up and down again. "Once you're done, tell them Loras wants _you._"

"And who is _Loras_?" he asked incredulously.

The boy tucked the pencil behind his ear and turned to go before calling out, "I am."

A week later, Renly still can't believe that it actually _worked. _ The part, the part of the King, is now his, and he can't shake the idea from his head that he somehow owes it to the mysterious _Loras. _He hadn't felt it was appropriate or wise to ask the directors exactly what influence Loras had over such an important production, especially given the heady looks they had exchanged with one another following his bizarre declaration. To make matters worse, the boy was nowhere to be found when Renly emerged from the audition room, and he hasn't been anywhere in the Arts building since. Renly knows this because he hasn't stopped looking for him all week, searching the top of every head and the face of every passerby. He even plotted to eat his lunch alone outside the doors of a first-year Studio Art seminar, only to be severely disappointed when the outgoing crowd did not include Loras. It is only appropriate to thank him, Renly tells himself, and that is _really _going to be the end of it.

By the second week, rehearsals are about to start. Renly knows the routine, reading through and learning, _becoming- _not memorising. The script is glued to his hand during every waking moment: on the bus, on the Tube, at breakfast, before he falls asleep alone in his flat at night. This one is going to be tough, he can tell, and not least of all because of Margaery. _Margaery. _He remembers her from his callback, the way her chin tilted up slightly when she spoke, the way she seemed able to switch from gentle to vicious with absolutely no effort. Her performance had astounded and intimidated him. But he doesn't have to deal with her until Monday, and today is only Friday.

After his last class in the afternoon, Renly takes the bus home and wastes no time before burrowing beneath the mountain of blankets he keeps covering his Ikea futon. _Enough for today, _he thinks as he wedges his face between two throw pillows. Just as he begins to drift off, he hears the telltale sound of his mobile buzzing against the hard surface of the coffee table. _Nope. Not today. _If it's Robert, he can call him back. If it's Stannis, that dick, he can _not _call him back. When are his brothers going to learn to get along without him?

He isn't sure how much time has passed, but he's definitely fallen asleep by the time it buzzes again. Cursing, he plunges out of his blankets and grabs the phone, fighting the urge to throw it out the door. Sure enough, the first notification is _One Missed Call from Robert Baratheon_, accompanied by a picture of his brother smiling like an idiot and giving the camera a thumbs up. The second, however, is a text message from an unknown number.

_It's Margaery Tyrell. Thought we could get coffee tomorrow, get to know each other before things get started. Professionally, of course. Let me know. _

Renly groans. The weekend had seemed so empty and quiet on the other side of his nap. He waits a long while to answer, microwaving frozen curry and making tea, flipping through the telly impatiently.

_Sounds reasonable. When and where? _he finally types back.

Settling on the opening credits of _Casablanca_, he does his best to fall asleep again before she replies. In his exhaustion, he dreams strange, warm dreams of touching the face of that ridiculous boy from the audition, tasting his fine, thin lips, hearing his voice whisper '_Loras wants you, Loras wants you' _over and over again. By morning, he is half-convinced that the boy must simply be a figment of his imagination.

Renly refused to dress up for this, but in the end he finally guilted himself into trimming his well-kept beard and putting on a nice jacket. Now, he is seated alone at the window of a low-lit café, waiting with a kind of long-suffering patience for the arrival of Margaery. She is twenty minutes late when he sees her getting out of the passenger side of a Mercedes-Benz in the parking lot. As she smooths her dress and begins to walk towards the building, the driver's side suddenly opens as well and a figure stands up and calls to her. Renly's stomach disappears, and he leaps up so quickly that his chair almost falls over behind him. _Loras Loras Loras Loras, _he all but whispers under his breath. The light is dim, but Renly is sure that it's him, absolutely sure. He feels his chest sink unpleasantly as Margaery kisses the boy on the cheek. Loras pulls away from her, wearing a haughty expression, and shouts something that makes her roll her eyes as she walks away.

Renly is still standing in shock, staring out the window, when she reaches his table.

"It's nice to see you again." she smiles as if suggesting a secret.

"What?" Renly asks, feeling pathetic for wanting to watch Loras' headlights as he pulls away.

"He'll be back." she whispers knowingly, leaning down over the table.

"Who?" Renly laughs, feigning innocence.

Margaery sits with her tight-clad legs crossed sideways against the table, a hand propped up in mid-air. Renly can't deny that the woman has a _presence_. "My brother."

"Oh? Was that your brother outside?" he asks her, feeling a small spark of hope.

"He wanted to come in, but naturally I said no."

"Naturally?"

She shrugs, and gathers her lips together on one side of her mouth the same way Loras had done. "I knew that if I brought him in, you wouldn't pay any attention to me."

Renly is stunned by her nerve and her candour. He can only laugh nervously. "I don't even know him."

"But you want to know him, and that makes all the difference. I called you here to talk about the play, not to watch my brother undress you with his eyes. Like I said, he'll be back once we've had a chance to discuss some things."

"He told me that I should-"

"Nope." Margaery cuts in.

"What?"

"We aren't talking about my brother right now." she leans forward.

"But-"

"_Renly..._" she warns with an indisputable finality.

An hour passes, maybe two, and they do talk about the play. Margaery gives him a run-down of every production she's ever done, starting at age seven. They talk directors and foreign films, idols and aspirations. He is pleasantly surprised by how easy she is to get along with, when she wants to be. The waiter who brings their coffees can't stop staring at her, but she doesn't seem to notice. She speaks with her hands and leans forward in all her wide-eyed glory to drive home the points of her arguments. Renly decides that he likes her, but in the way that one might like a beautiful plant that may or may not be poisonous to touch. He lets himself become so involved in her conversation that he has no warning of Loras' return, and no time to collect himself once he finally notices the smell of mint on the air.

"Loras!" Margaery calls out first.

Renly leaps from his chair again at the sight of him, dressed in an emerald green jacket, all curls and impossible edges.

"_You. _Where _are _you?" he demands of Loras.

Loras exchanges a confused look with Margaery.

"I'm right here. I mean, I've just got here. But I'm here." he smiles slyly, thin lips parting ever so slightly.

"Sorry, I mean, where have you been... around? I thought I'd see you... you know _again..._ after all, I wanted to... you know.. thank you... and everything... because I did what you said to do."

Loras puts a hand on Renly's shoulder and leans in to whisper, "You got the part because you earned it. You don't need to thank me."

"You helped."

"Only a little."

"It's something."

"Okay, fine. I helped a little. Is that _all _you wanted to find me for?"

"What? No, I-"

"Shall we go for a walk, to get some air?" Margaery interrupts.

Renly is suddenly feeling less inclined to like her, but he agrees anyways, hoping that maybe a more public setting will stop him from doing anything really _stupid. _

Margaery walks between them with her arms linked through each of theirs, a smug expression on her face. Renly steals looks at Loras over her head, always finding the boy already staring at him unapologetically. Renly is _reeling, _trying to breathe normally, trying to think coherently, speak intelligently.

"If you're not Studio Art, then what are you?"

"Design. Set and costume."

"I didn't know that was a major."

"It isn't, at your school." Loras grins.

"So you don't go to the University?" Renly feels slightly embarrassed after searching for the boy so long.

"No. An Arts academy."

"In London, though?" Renly asks hopefully.

"Yes." Loras bows his head reassuringly. "In the city. Highgarden."

"You're joking..."

Highgarden is the most prestigious, and not to mention the most _expensive _Arts academy in London. Suddenly, the Mercedes-Benz starts to make more sense to Renly. People who graduate from there go on to comprise the elite of high culture, both in Britain and on the continent. Robert, pressured by Stannis, had though it best that Renly get a traditional University education, _just in case, _to make him more fit for the real world_. _The injustice of it all still hasn't quite faded.

"No, Loras is too _good _to go to University like the rest of us." Margaery teases, and he flicks her in the back of the head.

They carry on that way for a while, Renly bombarding Loras with questions to fill the empty, beautiful shell of an image he carries around in his head. Loras shooting his sly, contained smile over Margaery's line of vision, speaking to Renly more with his eyes than with his words. Eventually, they find themselves lingering on the edge of a fountain, half-sitting while Margaery paces in front of them.

"I just think that working in an office would drain the _life _out of me. I know they want me to, but I can't do it." Renly admits, after giving the story of his brothers requested by Loras.

"Let's never do it." Loras whispers, leaning in and narrowing his wild, green eyes. "Let's never allow anyone else to control us."

"Promise?"

"Only if you do."

Renly holds out a hand to shake on it, but Loras takes it between both of his instead. Suddenly, there is a monumental _splash _and Renly feels his face dotted with drops of fountain water.

"Margaery!" Loras shouts, trying to sound stern but half-choking on his laughter.

Renly spots the clothes she'd been wearing lying discarded on the ground. She surfaces a moment later, gasping and giggling, completely naked, lit from behind and below by the lights of the fountain.

"Last one in is a COWARD!" she shouts.

Loras looks affronted for a moment before shrugging to Renly and adopting an inexcusably mischievous smile.

"You _cannot _be serious." Renly says to him, but he's already taken off his jacket and his shoes and is now working on the buckle of his belt.

_Seven hells. Seven million hells. Every single hell that ever was. _Loras doesn't even have the decency to break eye contact as he sheds the last of his clothes. Renly crosses his arms against his chest again and turns to the side; Loras laughs at him and climbs onto the edge of the fountain. He whistles, and Renly looks up in spite of himself. The boy's body is a silhouette against the light, lean and glorious as a greek soldier. He places his hands on his hips and tilts his body back far enough to smile at Renly upside down. What would it be like, Renly wonders, to touch him? To run his tongue against the crease of his spine? Farther down? To gather the curves of his flesh against the palms of his hands, to part his legs gently as he exhaled...?

The line of thought is interrupted by a second splash as Loras throws himself into the water, his laughter echoing out into the empty street along with Margaery's applause. Renly finds himself clinging to the damp stone ledge, knuckles white. Loras surfaces again after a moment, and swims over.

"If you don't get into this fountain, I am going to _pull you in._" he says with a devilish grin, reaching out and cupping a dripping hand behind Renly's neck.

"You couldn't!" Renly retorts.

Loras brings their foreheads together and pulls Renly closer by his waist. "Do you want me to try?" he asks in a low, stern voice.

The walk to the car is a quiet, content one. Margaery wears only her underwear with Loras' discarded blazer, and doesn't seem to care when cars zoom past on the empty street. Renly shivers against the damp of his clothes and the heat of Loras' firm skin where their arms touch.

"I can get the bus, it's really no trouble." he offers.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Loras topples headfirst into the back seat, laughing, as Margaery plugs Renly's address into her phone. Suddenly, he leans forward and turns to his sister.

"Have I complimented your breasts lately?"

"Not lately."

"Speaking from a standpoint of _complete _objectivity, I think they look lovely tonight."

"Oh, Loras! Do you really?" she exclaims, parting his blazer and presenting her chest to him. He cups one in his slender fingers and squeezes teasingly.

"Would I lie to you?"

"Probably, but we'll pretend like you wouldn't. Now get off so I can drive." she kisses him on the cheek and they both laugh.

Renly tries to hide his bewildered expression as Loras turns to him, yawns, and rests his chin on his shoulder. His damp curls tickle Renly's neck as he leans down to breathe them in.

"Thank you for cooperating." the boy whispers right into his ear. Renly is suddenly thankful for the discouraging chill of his clothes.

"I like to do things on my own terms." he chuckles.

"Uh-huh."

Margaery is smiling her wry smile, tapping out a beat onto the steering wheel when they arrive at Renly's flat.

"See you Monday?" she shrugs.

"Monday." Renly replies.

"You have to get off now, Loras." she prods him.

"I don't have to do anything." his voice is muffled against Renly's neck. In a moment of boldness, Renly places a quick kiss on his forehead and slides out of the car. Loras quickly takes his place in the front seat, and holds out an arm to keep the door from closing.

"Hey, I'll see you soon. Yeah?" Loras looks up at him, timid as ever, biting his lips again. Renly wants to carry him upstairs and hold him, just _hold him _against his shivering body_. _Has he ever just wanted to _hold_ someone before?

"Yeah. See you around." he replies, trying to be nonchalant, but his voice shakes ever so slightly. Loras' face lights up at the words, and Renly closes the car door between them as gently as he can.

The afternoon is dragging on as Renly stares up at the lights, waiting for Margaery's soliloquy to end _again. _Petyr, the director, has made her run through it at least four times just today because he seems to think it's the most important part of the entire production. Renly looks down again and his vision is cluttered with spots of black and searing white. His head gives a warning throb and he covers his eyes with his hands.

"What's the matter Renly, _bored _of being King?" Petyr shouts at him.

"Look, I think she's got it okay? Couldn't we move on for today?" Renly snaps.

"Sure. We'll move on. You. Start at the second scene. The feast." he shouts again.

There is a scramble onstage, a sound like paper wings as scripts fly and pages flutter. Renly hears the door of the auditorium creak open and slam closed, but he knows better than to let himself be distracted by it. He begins speaking from memory, glancing at the script only as a precaution. A stillness has fallen over the other actors, a silence over the straggling crowd of tech students in the front rows. There is always something so thrilling in captivating other people, drawing them in and setting them alight. He lives for it, for the moment when the line between reality and fiction, the face and the mask, become intertwined. Most days, he can feel the never-ending earth barreling down beneath his feet, solid to the core. Today, he feels like a god.

That is, until he makes the mistake of looking down into the front row. His long strides across the stage stop abruptly and awkwardly near the middle, and the stream of his voice catches thick in his throat. Loras looks up at him with a bemused expression, tilting his head slightly to the side again. Renly smiles blatantly in spite of himself.

"_Seven hells, _Renly!" Petyr shouts. Loras crumples in silent laughter in his seat, clutching his notebook to his chest. Margaery's eyebrows have all but disappeared beneath the prop crown on her head.

"Sorry... forgot what was next." Renly slurs, trying to put on a bright expression.

He determines not to look down again for the rest of the evening, but the damage is done. The rehearsal barely edges through another half-hour of missed cues and forgotten lines before Petyr has shouted himself hoarse.

"You know what, _fuck it. _It's Friday, I don't want to be here. She doesn't want to be here. You _definitely _don't want to be here. Go the fuck home, and you'd better have your shit together by Monday." he finally concedes, slamming his script into his bag and blasting off down the aisle. Everyone on stage pauses for a moment of shock, not sure whether or not they've actually been set free. Slowly, they break off one by one. Renly turns to Margaery, giving her what he hopes is an apologetic look. He knows how seriously she takes this.

"Sorry about all of that." he mutters, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

She studies him for a hard moment before linking her arm through his. Taking the prop crown from her head she says, "Let's take these backstage for today."

He doesn't dare sneak a look into the crowd as he leaves. They walk in silence, arms linked, through the shadow of the curtain and the wet smell of the darkened hall. In the dressing room, Margaery begins to check her own reflection, dabbing the sweat from her face as Renly watches her apprehensively.

"Renly, you need to get yourself sorted." she says calmly. There is no hint of malice in the suggestion.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugs and flatly continues. "I have seen you better than you were today. Whatever it is that's bothering you outside of this, get it sorted."

Renly feels the blood rushing to his cheeks as he glares at her reflection. Their eyes meet and she gives him a gentle smile before she turns around slowly.

"I'm not insulting you. I'm complimenting you. I know that you can be perfect. I have seen you perfect. I want you to be perfect. Do what you need to do. _Get yourself sorted_."

Renly can only gape at her in confusion as she strides briskly to the open door of the dressing room, and pauses. She seems to remember something suddenly, and speaks without turning to face him, "He loves art museums." she says softly. "Our grandfather would always take us when we were children. The rain on the roof, the whispering, the still life paintings, the ones of roses especially. He loves it all."

Then, Margaery Tyrell is gone.

Renly finds Loras lying flat on his stomach on the middle of the stage, his notebook barely touching the tips of his outstretched fingers.

"Comfortable?"

"Imagining."

Renly hesitates. "Could I imagine with you?'

Loras rolls over onto his side and motions to the newly empty floor space. Renly lays down beside him and closes his eyes, taking in the smell of mint and hot skin.

"You're doing our set, our costumes, everything. Petyr recruited you. That's why you were here for auditions, why you wanted to draw me."

"Well, that's _partially _why I wanted to draw you." Loras grins almost sleepily under the glare of the stage lights. His eyelashes are impossible, heavy and transparent here.

"Could I see what you've got so far?"

Loras props himself up on his elbows and pulls the notebook towards him. Renly mimics him and lets his head fall onto Loras' shoulder. He can hear the boy's lips part into the short breath of a smile.

"Loras, these are _brilliant. _I'm not just saying that. I've never seen this kind of attention to detail."

"Do you really think so?"

"Absolutely. Forget about being too good for University, I think you're too good for Highgarden."

Loras rests his head against Renly's. "I know I am. I just wanted to hear_ you_ say it."

"You are a cocky little_ bastard_." Renly whispers, tucking a stray curl behind the boy's ear and following it with his lips.

"You don't seem to mind."

Loras turns his head in, and suddenly their lips are clinging together, tenuous and damp. Renly masters the urge to be greedy; he knows that he could do it again, but only hovers. They let the taste linger, the novelty of the wetness, eyelashes and light-fall.

"Do you like... other art?" Renly begins, "I mean... that is to say, other _people's _art."

"Mhmm." Loras hums into his ear.

"Well... whose exactly?"

"Would you recognise any of the names if I said them?"

"I could _learn _about them. Teach me."

"Teach you about art?"

"Say... in a museum... or some other sort of... place where art... might be... you know... _kept. _For people to see. And go see...together."

"You'd do that?"

"Yes?"

"Just to spend time with me?"

"Of course not, inquiring minds must be satisfied. This is about my artistic education, Loras."

"Then your _education _will have to be my _top _priority."

"That means we have to start immediately."

"Tomorrow?"

"When?"

"I have fencing until eleven."

"_Fencing?"_

"You know, with the swords and the poking people..."

"I _know _what fencing is, you git."

"And do you remember what that sort of lighting is called?" Loras asks in a hushed voice.

Renly tightens his arms around the boy's waist and presses his face into the crook of his neck. "_Chiaroscuro_." he whispers.

"Impressive."

"What does that earn me?" Renly demands, feeling fingertips brush against his knuckles.

Loras kisses him again, for what feels like both the millionth and the first time. He wonders if people usually behave this way in museums, but the nip of teeth against his bottom lip drives everything else from his mind.

It is their third trip like this in as many weeks, their third day of wandering through long, low-lit corridors in tomb-like silence, bodies falling together accidentally each time they stop to look. To Renly, most of the pictures start to blur together after the first hour, but they both know it doesn't matter. They are there to feel small together, to be dwarfed by the vaulted ceilings and throne portraits, to intertwine for a stolen moment in the hush of empty, cavernous stone.

When they finally emerge again in the afternoon, Renly is pleased to see that the sun has come out.

"Let's go to the park." Loras suggests, balancing on the handrail of the stairs while Renly prepares to catch him if he falls, the idiot.

They make their way through the city slowly, stopping for sandwiches and iced coffee, making jokes at one another. Renly catches people staring at his hand on the back of Loras' neck, or their arms linked together between them. He doesn't care. Loras' hair shines gold in the sun and his skin smells of light sweat and clean fabric. He is boundless today, dancing circles around Renly with his wide eyes, soaking in the glory of the afternoon. They fall into the grass together, laughing, and he settles his head against Renly's chest. Renly's eyes fall closed as he feels the boy stretch his nimble fingers up to stroke his neck.

"You are _awful_." he mumbles into a mess of curls, letting his hands slide up beneath the fabric of Loras' shirt to rest in the dip between his ribs. Renly feels him shiver closer, hears him exhale heavily.

"You're worse." he replies shakily, trying to conceal his breathlessness behind a laugh.

"Should I _stop_?" Renly whispers, pressing against the space between his thighs.

"I want you to touch me."

"I _am_ touching you, darling." Loras stifles a whimper and twists to hide his face in Renly's chest.

Just when Renly starts to feel sure of his victory, the boy emerges grinning wickedly. Then, they are rolling and laughing again, chest-laughing, pinning each other with knees and elbows, stealing wrist-kisses and tongue-tip tastes of collarbones. It is an elaborate game of skin-tag, an endless exchange of subtle movements growing slower and more delicate until finally they are only sitting with their arms around one another again. Renly is missing a shoe; Loras' hair is infested with bits of grass and stray twigs.

"You look like the most beautiful homeless person I've ever seen." Renly teases.

"Okay, Rip Van Winkle."

"Don't insult the _beard!"_

"I like the beard!"

"I like... you. All of you."

"What about the annoying bits?" Loras asks, avoiding his eyes.

Renly studies him as he looks down, uprooting grass with his artist's fingers.

"Those too." he whispers, pressing his lips against his damp forehead.

They are silent, held together for a while. The day is fading over the edge of the trees in shades of amber and rose; a wind has come from the river to sweeten the air and the sound of children laughing echoes across the bridge.

"I love the summer." Loras sighs. "I hope that winter never comes this year."

"I'm a summer person, too."

"Maybe one day, we could live somewhere it never gets cold."

"I'd like that. Somewhere quiet with a garden."

"Where no one could find us."

"No one."

Renly doesn't say it, he barely dares to think it as they help each other up out of the grass. He shoves the words away on the train, and drowns them out on the way up the steps to Loras' flat. It is only as they say goodbye in the dim light of the doorway and Loras whispers, _I'm so glad I have you, _that Renly finally dares that admit it to himself.

He has already fallen in love


	2. Winter

Loras wishes he'd taken the car, wishes he didn't have to walk all the way uphill to Renly's place in the rain with his portfolio inside his shirt beneath his coat. Inside the warmth of the lobby, he fishes his keys out of his pockets and gets the mail that Renly usually neglects. _No, nope. Lingerie? Really? Buckingham Palace, he'll burn that anyways..._

On the stairs there is the sound of a radio seeping through an open door, the squeak of his rubber boots as he turns the corner on each flight, panting by the time he reaches the top floor. He doesn't knock before he goes in; he broke that habit months ago.

Renly is on his mobile, pacing, and he looks flustered. Loras sheds his boots by the door and drops the mail and his artwork on the coffee table.

"I don't care how _lucrative... _no! I have no interest in working for you, Stannis." The voice on the other line squabbles something unintelligible.

"Because it would make me miserable and it would be boring and you would beat me to death with a Bible all day."

"No, I will not _think _about it. We don't need to go to dinner because I-"

"What do I care about his daughter?"

"I'm seeing someone Stannis, have been for months. I thought even _you _would have gotten that into your thick, bald head by now. Look, I have to go."

"Because I don't want to talk to you, I'm hungry, and Loras is here."

The voice squawks more fiercely than before.

"What do you mean a _real _relationship_?" _

Renly barely waits for him to reply before he throws the phone into the fireplace. Loras spends a moment trying to decide if he should tell him off or comfort him.

"That one was pretty new." he says calmly.

"I'm sorry, darling. I'm _so _sorry. I was angry and I wasn't thinking."

"That bad?" Loras asks, walking over to put his arms around him.

Renly looks as exhausted as Loras feels, beaten down and cold. There are little dark circles under his warm brown eyes from rehearsing late into the night for the last few weeks. Loras will be glad when the play is over, and he knows that Renly will as well, even if he doesn't admit it.

"I didn't call for dinner yet."

"Don't worry about it." "I don't suppose I'll be calling anything tonight." Renly chuckles, but it sounds drained.

"We can just sit for a while."

They head to the futon and Loras immediately wraps of one the many blankets around Renly's shoulders, pulling it up to his head like a hood. Renly leans forward and kisses him before saying, "I look like the Virgin Mary."

Loras almost snorts. "You're not the Virgin _anyone._"

"Oh that's rich coming from Mr. _Threesome-With-My-Sister-in-Spain."_

"That was one time!"

"One time in Spain, one time in Italy, one time in France, one t-"

Loras lets the blanket slip down and all but tackles him. Renly doesn't need to know how right or wrong his accusations might be, and he doesn't seem to _care _as Loras parts his lips gently with his tongue. It is a deep, exhausted kiss, loaded with unvoiced worry and time spent unwillingly apart. Loras feels as though he's come home from a long way off. After a moment, Renly pulls away and presses his face into Loras' shoulder.

"You're still upset about what Stannis said."

"Nah."

"Renly, _I know you._ I know you, I know you, I know you."

The older man smiles sadly and kisses the younger one again. "He's trying to set me up with the daughter of one of his colleagues from the Foreign Office. I told him I wasn't interested and he said it was time that I found myself a _real _relationship."

Loras pretends that this doesn't phase him. He knows that if Renly even begins to suspect how much the words scare him, it will only make matters worse. "Why can't he be more like Robert?"

Renly shrugs. "Robert isn't a fanatic. Not to mention he's too drunk most of the time to remember that he _himself _is married, let alone to remember that I'm not dating a woman. He's usually too drunk to be upset about it once I remind him, too."

"As I said, more like _dear _Robert." Loras says with staged reverence.

"He'll get over it one day." Renly forces a smile.

Loras slides into his lap, placing his knees on either side of him, and takes his face between his hands.

"You can tell Stannis..." he kisses him.

"That he may pray," - again-

"To whichever god he likes," -again-.

"In any_ way_ he likes,"-

"But this" he slides his tongue between Renly's lips and feels him sigh into his mouth,

"_is how I pray to mine_."

He feels Renly's hands on his back, tremulous, curving lower, grasping hard, pulling him up, pressing him closer. An invisible line has been crossed; he is burning, burning, burning, and there is nothing else.

Renly pauses for a moment to stare up at him with glossy eyes. "And I to mine."

Loras never makes much noise if he can help it. He bites his lips and clenches his slender fingers in the sheets, holding his breath, trying with all his might not to cry out, not to beg just yet. Renly is hovering again, opening his mouth against the curve of Loras' thighs, against his ribs, against the almost painfully tender skin of his chest. _I like to explore you slowly, _Renly always says, _slowly, slowly. _Loras tries to be patient. No one has ever explored him slowly before. He's been with boys who only wanted to get him drunk and bend him over. He's been with boys who were too intimidated by him to even look him in the eye. When you're Mace Tyrell's son, you can have any kind you like and no one need ever know a thing about it.

But Renly is different, and especially today. How many times has Loras watched him kiss Margaery in rehearsal? It shouldn't still get to him like this, he _knows _it shouldn't.

He wishes it were more controllable, that his stomach didn't twist into knotted vines every time Petyr called for another run-through. Renly's tongue is tracing the hollow of his throat now, he feels his palms pressing flat against his thighs. He hadn't been able to watch it after a while; he'd just gotten up and left without a word, slipped out the door of the auditorium and come back here to sketch in silence. _You are so beautiful, how are you so beautiful? _Renly asks, over and over. He had understood; he always does, even when Loras can't bring himself to explain. Loras can feel his body trembling as he draws his knees up and locks them in behind his shoulders. His hands shake as he slides them into Loras' curls, cradling his head, still whispering. _Darling, darling, darling. _There is a flash of pain, a slash of light across his vision in the darkness, but then... _but then. _

There is no such thing as deep enough; they've stopped worrying about hurting one another a long time ago. Loras is trying so desperately to maintain his composure, jaw set and teeth clenched, breathing furiously through his nose in the moment of stillness. He feels Renly's hands on his sides, tilting his body. _Good? _Loras can only manage a quick nod and a low whine, but it's enough. Their lips collide as Renly drives forward again, and Loras is unnerved by the noise that escapes from somewhere inside his own chest. Renly chuckles quietly, and Loras can feel the vibration between his ribs. _Relax. _The images of his day are spinning inside his head, wound up so tightly they might break. He tries in vain to hold onto them, to keep the almost gratifying resentment, the distance. But they become dimmer and dimmer each time Renly goes deeper, until finally there is nothing left but the sound of his ragged breathing and the metallic taste of blood on his lips, the dull slam of the headboard with each rapid movement. Loras lifts a hand, and Renly presses it up against the wall, twining their damp fingers together in an impossible grip. Loras feels Renly's mouth opening against his neck, the nip of his teeth, his fingers wrapped around him in the space between their bodies, and suddenly he can't _stop _himself from crying out. He feels Renly move faster as he grows louder and louder in his string of breathless, inarticulate pleas. His back arches and his hips begin to jolt wildly upwards as they slam together, creating the faint pat of skin against damp skin. There is blackness and light, no breath to be found, an inexplicable need to be taken apart from the inside. But most of all, there is Renly, clinging to him desperately, the smell of sweet spice and heat, the waves of his low voice as he chants Loras' name like a prayer, _Renly_.

The end is a heady collapse, a few long rises and falls on the other side of a great wave, loose heavy limbs and a hush like dawn.

"I can feel your pulse in..." Renly groans. "I can... _Loras._"

They learn to breathe again, lying tangled on their sides. Loras lets his eyes fall closed as Renly strokes his hair.

"That's only for you." he says.

"I know." Loras replies.

"No, you don't know. Because if you understood exactly how much I am for _you..."_

"I do understand I just... things can change. That's all. What if you wake up one day and you-"

"_No. _That is _not _the way this works. I have loved you since the moment I _saw _you."

Loras feels a lump rising in his throat, the remnants of the day, the twisted knot in his stomach. He doesn't want to cry, but the exhaustion is taking over. "I just get very scared sometimes." he manages in a rigid voice.

"Scared of what, darling?" Renly asks, staring intently.

He doesn't know how to explain them, all of the things he fears. He doesn't know how to explain what's it's always been like with Margaery around anyone he cared about, what it's like to be seen as an _inheritance _instead of a person, to be used as a means to an end, to feel that you're only drifting from day to day in a world where nothing is denied to you, but nothing can really belong to you either. He doesn't know how to explain what it's like to finally feel that you have a home.

He tries to shrug. "Of how things used to be. For me. Before."

"That goes both ways, you know." Renly whispers. "I didn't do anything for you that you haven't done for me a thousand times over."

Loras can't imagine how that could be true, but he decides not to question it tonight. Tonight, he will only nod, will only let his eyes fall closed beneath Renly's lips, will let himself finally drift off to the sound of the rain and the steady breathing of the man beside him. There is nothing else.

Loras doesn't like being told what he can and can't do, and especially not by the likes of Petyr Baelish. He worked for _weeks _on the set designs for the play, mostly on Renly's coffee table after he'd fallen asleep, because Margaery always keeps their flat full of people. He had to hand it to himself, they were the best he'd ever done. And how had Petyr received this magnum opus? _This isn't Coven Garden, Loras. Unless you're planning on paying for all of this yourself, you're going to have to take it down a notch. We have something called a budget around here, not that you'd know much about that..._

He knows that none of this is Renly's fault, but he can't stop himself from being particularly icy as they walk to get coffee that afternoon. Walking a few paces ahead with his hands in his pockets against the wind, Loras hasn't said a word since they met up after rehearsal.

"Wait up!" Renly calls after him. "What's your hurry?"

"I'm not in a hurry." Loras snaps. "Maybe you're just _slow._"

Renly grabs his shoulder roughly and turns him around. "It's not my fault you're fighting with Petyr. I wouldn't care if you tried to set off _fireworks _at the end of the third act."

"I never said it was your fault." Loras pouts. "You don't seem to have a problem taking it out on me, though."

Loras scoffs and bites his lip. "It wouldn't kill you to stand up to him sometime. You're supposed to be the most important character, Renly. This play doesn't _exist _without you, and you let him treat you like shit."

"You'd rather me act more like Margaery? Their shouting matches waste half our rehearsal time. Not to mention he threatens to replace her at least twice a day!"

Loras is tired of arguing, so he pulls himself out of Renly's grip and starts off down the street again. There are surprisingly few people out today, because of the cold, and he feels even more isolated as they pass into a narrow space between two buildings. He notices a man with long, greasy hair sitting on the ground with a hat turned upside down, begging for coins, but he brushes past him.

"Give a man a pound?" the beggar says to Renly.

"Loras, hold on." Renly calls up to him, "I don't see why not." he says to the man, smiling as he pulls out his wallet.

"Renly, do _NOT-" _Loras shouts, but the man has sprung up from the wall with the knife in his hand.

"Give me the whole thing!" he shrieks, pressing his knife flat against Renly's chest. Loras freezes for a split second. Renly looks over at him and their eyes lock, bewildered.

"No need to get pushy," Renly laughs nervously. "I was trying to give you something anyways."

"You too, pretty boy! Or I'll cut out his heart and let you wear it as a necklace." the man actually _winks. _

Afterwards, it would all be a bit of a blur to Loras. What had his fencing instructor always said? _Here you fight like a gentleman. In the real world, there are no gentlemen. _The next thing he knows, he is holding the man by his filthy hair against the wall, pressing the tip of the blade just _barely_ into his neck. There is a giant welt on the man's forehead, a clump of sick-dark blood trickling down into his eyebrow.

"Renly, I hope you have your phone." he says with a calmness that even terrifies himself.

The man cackles through his shattered teeth, and Loras bashes him across the nose with his elbow.

They stand in the gathering darkness amidst the flashing lights, giving their statements to a stern woman in uniform.

"And you did _that _to him?" she asks Loras incredulously, looking him up and down, taking in his expensive clothes, the green blazer, the scarf, and trying to imagine someone like that winning a fight.

Renly has his arm around his shoulder still, and they turn to look at the man once again, sitting in handcuffs in the back of an open ambulance, covered in blood and howling every time someone dabs his nose.

"I'm stronger than I look?" Loras suggests. Renly is shaking with silent laughter.

"That's all right and good, but next time don't play the hero. A wallet isn't worth it, Mr. Tyrell. I'd think you wouldn't be upset to lose a few dollars..."

Loras grimaces. "It wasn't about the wallet."

"I thought you said he was trying to rob you?"

"He was." Renly says, looking at Loras with a puzzled expression.

"He had a knife to your_ chest_."

"And he would have put it away-"

"No." Loras feels his mouth curving painfully downward. He shakes his head furiously.

They hail a taxi to take them back to Renly's flat, and the ride home is a silent one. Loras stares out of the window, focusing all his energy on keeping his mouth from turning downward into that childish frown Margaery always teases him about.

"Cheer up, Edmund Dantes. You were very brave." Renly whispers into his ear. He tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a whimper.

The flat feels strange to Loras when they enter, as if he's somehow changed since the last time he was there. Everything seems so _fragile _all of the sudden, the wine glasses that hang above the cabinet, the rain-pelted windows. The clock on the mantle suddenly looks so precarious to him, as if it might fall at any moment. He notices that Renly is watching him with a certain caution, as if he might be preparing to explode. Loras finally breaks the silence, hugging his arms to his chest.

"He could have killed you and there would have been nothing I could do about it."

"Loras."

"_Nothing_. It could have happened so_ quickly._"

Renly closes the space between them and puts a hand on each of his shoulders.

"You smashed his head against the wall, broke his nose with your bare hands and held him at the point of his own knife. I think it's safe to say you _did something _about it. Anymore _something _and we'd probably be having this conversation from an interrogation room in Scotland Yard."

"I should have killed him." Loras says finally, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

"No. You _should _have just let me give him my wallet and run. What would you have done if you couldn't get the knife away from him?"

"Kill him anyways."

"Loras, stop talking like that. You've never killed anyone and you're never going to."

"I don't care. I would. For you, I would."

Renly looks exasperated for a moment, but the expression shifts to something more tender. He pulls him in, and Loras slides his hands under his shirt.

"Off." he commands simply, and Renly doesn't argue. He rests his head on his bare chest, pressing his face into the spot where the greasy-haired man held his knife. The next thing he knows, they are on the floor and his head is throbbing from weeping.

"I'm here." Renly whispers, touching his hair. "I'm always going to be here."


End file.
